Assassin
by It'salreadycreeping
Summary: Katara was never meant to be a murderer, but sometimes things get so twisted up that what is meant to be doesn't matter. Oneshot. Zutara.


**A/N: Obligatory ****overangsty Zutara stuffs. Please do not take too seriously. Usually it's more fun to write things that **_**haven't **_**already been written five billion times, but… I had just come back from a weekend away and was in need of something to get me writing again.**

**I know I was lazy. I set it in the future so I didn't have to worry about how they actually got to that point. Anyway, on with the oneshot!**

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**Assassination**

A storm filled the night sky. Lightning crackled down from the heavens, potent, wire-thin and deadly. Thunder rolled around the hills, deep and terrible and oh, his head _hurt _–

"Katara," he said. "Come back to the palace. Come inside – you're wet, it's cold, and I'm not standing here forever… Don't be stupid. Come inside."

"I won't! Not ever!" And she was sobbing, her beautiful eyes creased up, salt tears mixing with the rain and it was killing her, _killing her _to say this –

"I'm not coming back!"

"Katara –"

"I hate you. You and your horrid country, you and your traditions and your honour and they always, _always _come before me, don't they, you horrible, stupid man –"

"Stop it." Zuko put a hand on her shoulder. She stilled at his touch, just like she always did, always had done, ever since she realized that a firebender's hands could be so _gentle… _"Just stop."

Another deep roll of thunder, hammering the hills with its tragic sound. Lightening lit up their faces, his strong, his jaw jutting, his amber eyes fierce, and hers so very fragile – she could break any second, because Zuko was against everything she had ever known, ever _wanted _to know, but somehow, he just fitted.

_But it isn't right_. Katara's instincts and common sense were fighting to the death inside her mind. _It isn't right, and you know it, and you're acting like a silly little girl. Get a grip; you're nineteen, not twelve years old_.

"That's better." Zuko took a step closer – she took a step back, her boots slipping on the wet grass. "Come inside. Now."

"No." Katara filled her voice with as much venom as she could muster; because _anything _was preferable to the love she was having trouble masking. "Didn't I just tell you? I'm not going back. If I go back, I'll get trapped there."

"What?"

"You heard me. I'll be trapped. I'll be forced into staying, like a stupid bird in a stupid cage, and I'll sleep between red sheets and wear red dresses and have red hangings on my walls, and I'll be covered in blood just like the rest of your country."

More thunder. More rain, drenching them both. Zuko's robes, now sodden, were even heavier on his shoulders than usual. "That's not true. The Fire Nation stands as proud as ever, and any blood on its hands –"

"_Belongs to my mother_." Katara's voice shook. "Do you know what my plan was, when I came to you? I wanted revenge. Nothing but revenge. I thought, _Why not do something for myself_? I thought it would be easy. I thought…" She closed her eyes. "I thought that it would make me happy."

"What would make you happy?"

Katara opened her eyes and fixed him with a steady, direct gaze. "Killing you," she said, in a voice that was clearer and louder than it had been all night. "That was always my plan."

Zuko laughed. "Go on, then."

She didn't move.

"Well? Come on. Kill me."

Nothing, just another flash of lightning that illuminated in her eyes, hard and steely and full of a terrible, cool clarity.

"It's nighttime. The moon's out; the sun's gone. There's rain everywhere, plenty for a skilled waterbender like you to drown me in." Zuko's voice was low, menacing. He took another step towards Katara; this time, she didn't move. "Here's your chance." He was almost daring her to do it.

Katara shook her head, and suddenly all the fight was gone from her. She sat down on the wet grass. "I can't. You know I can't." She wiped her eyes, then looked up at him again.

"But why not? If that was all you ever wanted, why didn't you? You had plenty of chances, when I was asleep, to…" His voice trailed off. Their minds were filling in the blanks for them; she could have stabbed him, smothered him with a pillow, anything. He'd trusted her, just like he'd trusted his lying, murdering sister Azula.

"I didn't want to."

"Why?"

"You don't need me to tell you that," murmured Katara sadly. "Oh, we're in such a mess, aren't we? I wish I could still just hate firebenders without questioning it. I wish I could hate _you_." She paused. "Because I did hate you, at first – oh, with all my heart, but somehow…"

_Somehow…_

"Come back inside."

"No."

"I'm leaving now." Zuko did not want to stand here and listen. He didn't want to face the truth.

"Go." Katara's voice was dull. "Go on."

Forcing himself not to look back, Zuko strode back down the hill.

-

Two years passed, and they didn't see each other for all that time. Every night, each of them remembered that last conversation – which had been more of a duel – and had wondered who was better off.

Zuko continued being Fire Lord, and in the whirlwind of conferences and negotiations and treaties and politics in general, he found himself starting to forget.

Katara waited. Waited for the moment when the path to happiness would become clear to her. And her patience paid off, because after eighteen months it did, in the form of a black-and-red iron ship that moored in the harbour, making the ice groan as if in melancholy and the reptile-birds fly away in fright, their grating caws filling the air like the turn of a key in a lock.

-

Zuko had just finished his work for the evening. Fire Lords rarely got any rest; the circles under his eyes were becoming permanent. At the moment, all he wanted was to sink into bed and let his lids slide shut and his mind loosen.

But as soon as he opened the door to his bedroom, his fantasies about a good night's sleep dwindled to nothing, because _she _was standing there, looking beautiful and fragile and dangerous in the candlelight, her shoulders lowered, her head tipped forward so that she was gazing at him from under her brows. She was wearing blue robes; her true colours; a discarded red cloak was lying crumpled on the floor.

"Zuko," she said quietly, almost as surprised to see him as he was to see her. "I was waiting for you… but you came in too suddenly."

"What are you doing here? I haven't seen you since –"

"Yes, I know." Silence. Katara bit her lip, and then said his name; it flushed out of her mouth, hot and raw and almost tender, before she could even think about what she was doing to herself. "Zuko…"

"Katara…"

And then they were kissing, not a gap between their bodies, blue and red robes pressed together, white skin and brown, blue eyes burning into amber – and it was so good, so different, a release from the rest of the world –

"Stop." Katara pulled away. "Zuko, I'm sorry." Her voice was infinitely soft and sad, so private that he wasn't sure he should listen.

"Don't be," he replied awkwardly.

"No. I am." Katara stood beside him and grabbed his hand.

"I understand," Zuko said; and this time he thought he _did _– this wasn't forever, it was just a parting kiss, just a wave goodbye so that they could both get on with their lives in peace, so that they would never have to lie in their beds at night and try to convince themselves they _weren't _thinking of each other.

"No, you don't." Katara was crying; she smiled through her tears. Quickly, yet almost wearily, she twisted his arm so that she was behind him, pinning him to her body, and she drew a knife from her belt and pressed it against his throat. "Zuko, I'm so sorry," she said again, but this time she was stammering, her voice shaking uncontrollably. "I really am." Her fingers tightened on the handle.

"You can't kill me," said Zuko calmly. "You know that." In reply, Katara increased the pressure of the blade on his skin. Bright beads of blood appeared on the edge of the silver. Zuko bit his lip against the pain.

"I can this time. It's not for revenge, not this time – it's politics. There are too many people who want you dead… Zuko, I'm so sorry."

"Why – why you?"

"You trust me," Katara said simply, and wasn't that the truth! Zuko laughed.

"Kill me then. I don't care. If you were expecting me to beg, you're not going to manage it."

"Zuko, I love you."

"No, you don't."

Katara squeezed her eyes tight shut, as though by blocking out the situation she could somehow transport herself back to her comfortable bed in her igloo. What was she going to tell Aang when news of the Fire Lord's death reached him? What was she going to do, afterwards? Why hadn't she thought this through to the end?

"Why aren't you using your waterbending?"

"I didn't… I didn't want…" Katara's voice trailed off.

"You didn't want to use your bending to kill me, because then you wouldn't be able to use it afterwards. That's cowardly."

"I'm not a coward. I've got a knife." Katara took a deep breath and prepared to slit his throat… but she couldn't do it. May the ocean spirit help her, because she _couldn't do it… _and she had thought she'd come prepared…

"Like every other coward in the world's got a knife. Why can't you just face the truth? Go on. Be brave. Tell me that this is for revenge."

"I won't. It's not."

"Tell that to your conscience."

"This is politics, Zuko. Pure politics."

"But you just told me you… loved me." Zuko clenched his fists. The knife was cold and painful against his skin. Why was a gentle girl capable of hurting somebody so much? What was so wrong with the world that it forced her to this, to this moment of madness and stupidity and terrible, terrible love?

"I was lying. Anything to gain your trust, and that's the truth, that's the _truth_…" She repeated it again and again. If she told herself it was the truth, then it would become a fact. Solid. Reliable. Something to hold on to.

Zuko knew, for a fact, that if he asked her to spare his life in that moment, she would. She'd take the knife away from his throat and flee back to the South Pole, a coward forever.

Nobody would mind. Nobody but, in some strange, twisted, turn of events, _her_.

"Katara…"

"Zuko…" Katara took a deep breath. Steadied her stance. Forced herself to turn off her mind, to stop thinking – _just stop thinking, it hurts too much_ – and she did it. May La help her… _she did it_.

And he was lying crumpled on the ground, a stain around his body, and she couldn't look at him… it was so inelegant, the way he was lying, the way his skin was split open.

She glanced at his face. His eyes were open, but they held no emotion – they were just eyes now, and his face was just a face. Just another one, just another soul who had gone from the corporeal world with much less trouble than he had entered it… He wasn't a Fire Lord. He was just a person.

He was a person, and she had killed him. Katara didn't cry. Calmly, she wiped her knife. Pulled on her cloak. She went out of his quarters, and found a pond by a tree, and dropped the tainted instrument in there. Turtle-ducks quacked from the rushes. Then she left the palace and ran away as fast as she could, to where a boat was waiting.

A Fire Nation boat. Katara tried to block that thought out of her mind as she hurried up the gangplank, scared that the palace guards would already be searching for her.

_I'm not afraid,_ she told herself, and repeated it in her head as she went to see the mastermind before all of this. The person who _really _wanted Zuko dead.

She knocked on a door. A guard opened it and, after checking that she was not armed, ushered her inside without a word.

"Is it done?" came a smooth, silky voice, as soon as Katara stepped into the dark room. The Fire Nation flag hung before her, glorious and bloodstained. She closed her eyes for a second.

"It… it is," Katara murmured, trying not to shiver.

"Good." Azula smiled coldly. "Well done, Katara. This may be the start of a very profitable partnership." Azula didn't sound happy at the thought. She didn't sound _anything_.

Katara didn't reply. She was burning with hatred towards Azula – she hated being a pawn, being told what to do, but she had wanted Zuko out of her mind; an assassination had seemed like a wonderful opportunity; it was revenge, yet, but with _reasons_.

It wasn't, though. It wasn't what she'd expected.

Katara realized, far too late, that nothing was ever perfect.

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**A/N: ****Well, there you have it. Silliness beyond bounds. Still, feel free to constructively criticize (though I'd be grateful if you CCd the **_**writing**_**, not the **_**content **_**with this one – I don't usually write clichés, I swear!)**

**And DAMN, Zuko is a hard character to write… second only to Iroh. If you've got any advice on how to characterize these two, I'd be incredibly grateful.**

**Oh, and I'm not a Zutara shipper. If you call me 'fellow Zutarian' or anything like that if you review, YOU WILL BE SHOT. The truth is, I'm not much of a shipper, but after The Headband I think I might just become an Onjaang (is that the name for it? I'm a n00b so I don't know ;--;). And Kataang was pretty darn cute in that eppy too gets brick thrown at head. **

**Thank you very much for reading :P**


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